


propagated sound waves

by Enchantable



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Coping, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Trauma, selective mute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 23:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19345195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable
Summary: He isn’t expecting Alex to push a pen and notepad towards him.“Guerin what’s going on?” He asks, “can you write it down?”





	propagated sound waves

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt: What about a Malex fic where, due to the build up of trauma experienced in the last episodes, Michael regresses back to being mute like when he was younger and what the outcome of that would be?

“Please say something!” Isobel begs, “Michael, please!”

He can’t. 

It’s a horrible feeling, it’s like his voice has been taken from him. He can’t say anything and he so desperately wants to. The disconnect though, it hits him again and and again like he’s behind a glass wall. Isobel is devastated and he’s pushed everyone away, he knows that and now he can’t even apologize. He can’t do anything but stare and be silent. Isobel sobs and Michael hangs his head, shame welling up in him and crashing against the proverbial glass that separates him from the rest of the world. Why the hell can’t he speak. 

“I can’t—“ Isobel presses her hand to the back of her mouth, “I can’t. I’m sorry.” 

Michael stares at the table as she flees. He doesn’t hate her, he tells himself. But he can’t speak as he stares down. He doesn’t know how many people come and go, no one noticing him sitting there. It’s like the glass is opaque and he is invisible. In his head he knows he’s screaming. But sitting here he can’t make a sound. He hates himself even more when the frustration peaks and his throat tightens. He refuses. He refuses to sit there silently crying and trapped in his own head. He’s not a child anymore. He grew out of this so many years ago. 

“Guerin?”

Oh please no. 

MIchael looks desperately up and over at Alex. Alex’s features morph from mild frustration to concern and Michael clenches his jaw, tearing his face away from him. He doesn’t want Alex to see him like this. Alex always sees him when he doesn’t want to be seen but this—this is worse somehow. Alex approaches anyway, slowly like Michael’s some kind of wild animal. He perches carefully on the edge of the seat opposite him, his eyes scanning over him. Michael wants to tell him to go to hell. Wants to tell him to never look away. Wants to say anything—anything at all. 

He isn’t expecting Alex to push a pen and notepad towards him. 

“Guerin what’s going on?” He asks, “can you write it down?” 

Michael wraps his fingers around the pen and keeps his left hand shoved under the table as he scratches out that he **can’t talk** and shoves the paper towards Alex. Alex reads the message quickly and looks at him, pushing the paper back towards him. **No-one knows** , he writes out. 

“I don’t understand,” he says. 

Isobel doesn’t know, he says. Isobel being mad at him is comparatively small but there’s no room. Not even for small things. He sets the pen down and pushes both towards him, shoving both his hands out of the way. Alex doesn’t understand, that much is very clear but he seems to get that something is going on. He looks down and Michael watches him quickly look up on his phone. He slides it over and Michael only has to take one look at one word to know. He can’t say Alex is right. Even writing suddenly feels overwhelming. 

“Here.”

Alex rolls something across the table. Michael reaches out and picks up the bottle. Alex nods encouragingly as he carefully works the top off, stabilizing it as little as he has to with his other hand. He sniffs and the smell of Isobel’s sheets but about a thousand times stronger hits him. He breathes in again and it doesn’t make everything better, but it does seem to somewhat make the glass less opaque. Things associated with Alex hurt, but the only way that Alex actually hurts him is when he leaves. As long as he’s there, Michael knows he’s going to be okay. Alex gets up and comes over. 

“Can I sit?” He asks. 

Michael nods. 

Hey, he can nod again. He doesn’t feel capable of speaking, but he can nod. Alex lowers himself into the seat so they’re on the same side of the booth. Alex doesn’t push and Michael loves and hates him for it. That’s always been the thing that infuriated him about Alex. How someone could be so smart and so kind and somehow completely blind to the fact that Michael needed him. Or worse, he wasn’t and he just didn’t care. It feels too overwhelming to puzzle out at the moment. If he tries, he’s not sure that he’ll ever start to speak again. 

“It’s okay,” Alex says, his voice low. Michael shakes his head, “it is,” Alex stresses and gets up, swinging over to the other side of the table. The waitress comes by, “Hey we’re ready to order,” Alex says. 

“Sure,” she flips a page, “what’ll it be?”

Alex orders them both burgers, fries and shakes. He even remembers that Michael likes chocolate not the little green man ones Max always lets him steal. Michael watches the waitress but she doesn’t seem to think anything is out of the ordinary. She can’t see that Michael can’t talk. She just gets them both water and drops a few extra straws on the table. Alex carefully peels the paper from his. Michael watches as he guides the long strip into a pentagon and then pinches the sides until it forms the shape of a star. The waitress brings their shakes next in the big metal cups and Michael finally is able to reach out and bring his over. The shake is cool and feels better on his hot, dry mouth than it has any right to. It’s hard to open his mouth but worth it. 

“How’d you remember my shake order?” Michael asks finally and it feels like he hasn’t spoken in years.

“You’re the only person I know who loves chocolate and hates cherries,” Alex says.

“They’re gross,” Michael says.

Alex shrugs and takes the sweet, bright red fruit—if it can be called that—and pops it into his mouth. The waitress appears with their burgers and fries. Michael sits up a little straighter, pushing aside the adrenaline to look at her when she sets his order down.

“Thank you,” He rasps.

“No problem,” she says, “can I get you guys anything else?”

Alex looks to him and Michael shakes his head.

“No,” He says, “thanks,” he looks at Alex who is trying to look innocent and fights the urge to let his anxiety ramp up. Alex dips a fry into his shake and Michael feels like he’s gonna explode, “aren’t you gonna ask?” He demands, “try to tell me what to do? Something?” He blows out a sharp breath, “it just happens sometimes.”

“I know,” Alex says.

“What? How?”

“You told me,” Alex reminds him gently, “in the shed,” he doesn’t seem confused that Michael is drawing a blank, “you mentioned you had trouble talking sometimes. That you were always holding back,” Alex says, “I thought it was only about talking.”

Embarrassment churns in Michael’s gut. He’s spent a decade trying to forget everything he told Alex. All the little truths seem woefully inadequate to the lie of what he actually was. Lying by omission is still lying. He can’t sort the truths from the lies when it comes to Alex, he’s still not fully convinced that he would ever have to. Michael shifts his weight and picks in his burger.

“I forgot I told you,” he admits, “I get messed up with lying.”

“I get that,” Alex says. 

Michael nods, it makes sense that he would. 

“I came out partially because I was having anxiety attacks,” Alex offers, “I couldn’t live like that anymore.”

Michael thinks of the people he’s come out to and how one of them is dead. He wonders if his mom would have understood, if he could have handled the rejection he always secretly feared his parents had felt towards him. The grief chokes him and he puts down his burger, looking at the food and fighting the urge to break down. Alex sits there as Michael waits for the familiar feeling of not being able to talk, but it doesn’t come. The time he wishes it did, it doesn’t. Instead he looks at Alex and finally gets out the words he hasn’t been able to say.

“I miss Max.”


End file.
